cardboard, tape and great moments in aviation

Back when I was five or so I wanted an airplane. Not a toy plane...an *airplane*. One of those two-tone Cessna or Piper single props at the county airport would do just fine, like I'd see when Dad and I would sit in the parking lot and watch flight lessons. Whenever the inspiration would hit, there I was finding materials and bugging everyone to help me nail boards together or whatever. Why would we need a long cord to power an old washing machine motor? We can just put one of those outlet box thingys from the wall in there and...

Anyway, at some point we came across this short, thick cardboard tube from a roll of whatever, but to my mind's eye, the propeller shaft. Next thing I know I've got boxes in the front room taped together to form the, um, "fuselage," side flaps for wings, rear flap for a tail. I must have been persuasive because Mom used a *lot* of masking tape trying to flange it to the side of the box. A nearby Naugahyde hassock becomes landing gear. As soon as it was all, um, "together" there was no stopping. I was gonna fly an AIRPLANE right there in the front room, dang it all.

So there she was. Up off the floor about to my waist, a staggering sixteen inches, and it would almost stand on its own when I let go. Mom's skepticism is but background noise as I climb in, just a tad shaky, one leg in, now the other...

*THUMP*

About 23 years later, and interestingly, ten years *ago*...well, evidently some lessons bear repeating and on a grand scale. When you're little and messing around with household materials in the front room, the real danger is trivial even when your dreams collapse to the sound of ripping tape. Different story when you've barnstormed your way into the almighty American Dream only to find a grizzly nightmare. In it, you're hopes are empty, relationships trite, appetite is DOA, paranoia coats the tongue...but if you pay attention, you catch on to what's been available all along while you were chasing wind.

Some bumper sticker has it right. We plan, God laughs. But the joke is never on us unless we take ourselves too seriously.

halves and have nots

Another family arrives at the burger joint in a bullet-shaped sedan, then we all show up in the cab of a pickup, and our respective churches have different names on them. Ours is downtown although most of us live more comfortably than people in the surrounding homes. Earlier, on the way in, my dad makes fun of a long-haired man walking along the street.

Some of the kids at church are from the surrounding neighborhoods and they don't mind that they don't look like "us" or act like "us" most of the time. Usually these are the ones I'd rather be around, unless they're just plain annoying, but they aren't there as often as us "regulars."

Sometimes we have church at night. In the cold months the downtown streets are only to be seen in passing, the domain of the unknown and unsaved. People walking after dark around are up to no good and we lock our doors and look where we're going and everything will be fine once we're home watching TV.

Jobs are scarce. Some kids at school have parents laid off from factories. At the mall there are "minorities" standing around talking all weekend. Pastor asks people to "dig deep" before calling the ushers.

Sometimes it's hard to tell whether the folks who come in for "help" are naturally self-confident or just used to asking. You only see them that one time.

Reagan is the only one who can "fix" all this. He usually wears a suit.

We have Sunday School parties, well attended by a lot of us "pre-teens." Not sure if it's the leadership, or the mix of kids, or both, but I find these things fun for once. One of the "neighborhood" dudes asks me about my old electric razor collection and he becomes cool, just never sticks around long enough.

At one point this loud mouth who lives "comfortably" starts in with racial slurs with one of the "neighborhood" girls and she doesn't stand for it. She and her friend, one of the few girls I thought was cute back then, didn't stick around long enough, and I am getting tired of typing that.

Some of "our" moms and dads split up before we finished high school. I never got to find that out about most of the "neighborhood" kids.

as i stand agaze

as i stand agaze
at the fortress of refuge
how strangely, these days
i savor the deluge

a dream far too real
in this tempest i'm couched
raging rose-petal pinwheel
that is felt, but not touched

it spins as it pleases
cream confection'ry bliss
such warm fragrant breezes
best of times, reminisce

at the eye and center
stares your face in some trance
tells so precious little
save, gracious acceptance

and

she is the one who shows up just before a major blizzard with a decent pinot noir, because sometimes you need to get next to a carbon-based life form of your own species and just bask in each others' radiation, playing cards and talking about nothing in particular until the Chili Peppers CDs are done, at which point you reach for some Eagles or maybe Bob Seger

verdict

as whiny high-pitched voices mock your every public utterance your fist slams the desk and your mind goes back to the idealistic child buried deep within the suit and the image who can't get his way but then for a split second you actually sense that it would not kill you to believe in the future

Bobby's Place

We live in a old two-story in the middle west side, not much but we like it here. She wears my old ball caps, usually backwards, and probably doesn't realize how often she has one on. Sometimes we go over to Bobby's during a game since most of the neighborhood will be there too. You need hope in this world, you know, they shot Reagan and now all they talk about is how someone tried to kill the pope. The lady, my angel, I gotta say, is simply the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm not what you call religious but I sure don't want anyone to die, especially, you know, for no good reason. Bobby is a pretty good guy in my book. What's with all the mohawks and purple hair moping around the mall? She was engaged to someone else right out of high school but things change. A couple dudes down the block like to hit golf balls off the sidewalk. Bobby Brink. She hired in at the shop where I work and we could probably move if we wanted. Bobby was always quiet when we were in school but he pretty much ran the bar as his dad kept getting sicker. We got a stereo last year with our tax refund and sometimes I crank up Ozzy real loud so she'll yell at me. Bobby drives a maroon Corvette. She leans her feet and knees on me while we share a beer. I grew up not too far from here but its all different now. They say one of those golf balls dinged a police car in the next block as they cuffed some stoner for looking in people's windows. More often than not we come home to find one of our dingleturd cats tangled up in a blind. Her fiancée was locked up for dealing and God help the bastard. Starting to think she actually likes the music I play and bless her for laughing at Bill Murray. Bobby really doesn't make a big deal about being successful and having things. Not sure about him and his wife tho, I mean, if they're happy. The cat could wiggle loose if he really wanted to. We have both our families over for holidays and it's the only time our place is clean. Bobby's house is pretty nice, I suppose, and they got a couple kids. Sometimes at night we're just sitting there watching TV and I look at her and think how lucky I am.

okay maybe not

Phillip Hector MCHUEGALFARTHEY of Mass. has appointed himself to be the first ambassador of Planet Earth to the Andromeda Galaxy as announced during a recent diatribe at the park. The sojourner plans to pass time during the 28-year superluminal journey attempting to beat the on-board computer at chess, as well as doing some other things. When asked about a capable spacecraft he assured us the government has a ship that no one else knows about, and hopes to be underway as soon as it can be determined that "they have at least one decent tavern there."

in no sense

regurgitated streams
from that sweet little mouth
s-o-b's and g-d's
will he ever regret?
breaking m-maw's heart
how could he know
as she spends a moment alone
equine tears from bovine eyes
at once precious and profane
unprotectable
as a blow to the ear
broadside

this salty world

*sigh*

fresh as ever

verbatim

When something comes out of nowhere

whenever you see that person's face

you look away

am I offended?

or did I not want to offend?

the image burns in your mind in life

haunts like a ghost in your quiet moments

presence that's not only unwelcome but unsettling

what did I do wrong?

do you want me to change?

Words can't express the frustration

What the f do you want man?

what gives?

Then finally

after what seems like eternity

even just an ordinary person among everyone else...

Who is that face??

sage

children

boast retorts

yet find themselves

devoid of inquiry

quick to mock

that which we do not

or

can not

comprehend

sardonic voices

raised

rehearsing former glory

resonate throughout

some cold cavernous

mold

that only you

have the power

to break

what

do you fear?

the unknown

outside

perish the thought

of parents

even

unlikely heroes

tumbling

in their caskets

to guard unceasingly

that sole remnant shard

of innocence

inside

lest we smash to bits

rend asunder

the one

who gave us wisdom

and

faculties of

reason

in the beginning

uprising

a borrowed shortwave rig with a broken dial string sings beijing's denial

in the wild wild west escape club prepares us for the 90s

girls look and taste like a corner store in the mall called pasta

still the 80s are in full blossom

guys sport haircuts we now wish pictures could lie about

and true freedom of thought bears a price tag in any age

we met last year and if only i could admit that it went to seed months ago

countless college mailings become buried in dust beyond the foot of my bed

didn't have her own sense of security so why not steal mine?

people my age were getting married in the newspaper already

started my first part time job which she probably found threatening

some dude staying down the street from her could bust moves like the new kids

any anecdote i tell that involves another female is hijacked by interrogation

she bleached her hair out of concern that people would think we're siblings

if i couldn't keep a date there was hell to pay

the slender blonds she works with may just as well soar among the stars

on the phone i learn first hand that she's a year younger than i had thought

you get what you get when you dive blind

we actually had a good time watching batman with my visiting cousin

yet on many a sultry afternoon i find her cool as an unearthed potato

my fledgling mustache would have been pathetic if it weren't so pitiful

some of us don't really experience life

evidently my family was too perfect for her to be comfortable around

so dancing boy whimsically fell short down there which makes it ok?

she went to a party where they all got quiet during stairway to heaven

instead we just observe others when we manage to crawl out of our grub hole

then one determined act of defiance was all i needed

well maybe two

if you count the time i called on a neighbor

seems the brother of one of my classmates snagged a piece of the berlin wall

and a flippant middle finger got me chased across the parking lot after work

on my 18th birthday

but permeating all this was a rare distant mood

beckoning eventide luminescence

hopeful and savory

anything is possible

at night the radio picks up worldwide rock from new orleans

seniors cut in the lunch line

because we can

a transfer student and pastor's son joins me in crooning some elvis

aqua-netted underclass hotties hit me up for change

love shack bayyyyy beeeee

time to live a little

or maybe

a lot

En La Isla Del Presidente

thanks to a broken down bel air

and distracted thugs

taking cover in some forgotten brush

at the edge of a cane field

strangely

i am not even startled

by desperate gasping

from deep within

tangled sinewy foliage

just a few steps away

supporting yourself with a bamboo tree

as though you had also

just arrived

Competition IV

Fireworks had been the best ever and there we lie, elbow length apart, on a blanket spread across my hood and windshield. One or two tailgate parties raged on in the distance, but our little world was our own. The air had just a whiff of leftover mugginess, mixed with the sweetness of nearby cornfields, from when a brief squall made us wonder if they'd have to postpone, leaving in its wake a perfect view of constellations that perplex the ages.

After I picked her up at the barn we grabbed sandwiches then took our time finding a spot even though the lot was far from crowded. As the evening progressed the words were increasingly sparse, and somehow, I sensed, just as irrelevant.

I take a deep breath. Right on cue she answers with one that couldn't have been more mocking from a seasoned comedienne. As I look her way with raised eyebrows I'm met with that smile that has a way of answering the present question while raising a thousand more all at once.

"Shall I yawn now?"

"Are you tired?" she replies, eyes ablaze.

I look away and take another deep breath, straining with every fiber to keep it together. Something is different tonight. Whatever it may be, it's throwing me off, but I keep telling myself it's worth the risk of staying on course. I smile.

She turns her head away with nothing to look at but a starry patch of black. Her breath this time is filled with consternation, a gale-force sigh.

"Look, just so you don't have to worry, there is no way we're falling for each other," she asserts with arms folded.

"Ohhhhh kayyy" I reluctantly offer, refusing to leave her stranded.

"I mean, I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page and all."

"Right." My grin starts to encore, adding, "I mean...I've been doing everything I possibly can to keep that from happening."

The forced silence that followed simply could not survive. Impossible to say who started laughing first. Eventually the mutual peripheral surveillance gives way to an exchange of relieved, wistful smiles.

I glance away with, "Aren't we a couple of dipshits."

We cover our mouths as kids giggling in church. At some point she reaches out to the sky for a handshake, "Nice to meet you, we're the Dipshits!" It's a wonder we didn't roll onto the ground, but that would have been all right, so deliciously lost, you might say, in on the joke.

is it just me, or

she is not someone you meet

she's visually striking, but her beauty is revealed over time, as the elements sculpt the side of a marble cliff

she has mostly male friends, even when she's married, none of which can ever tell where things stand

she'll share a double room with you during an overnight trip, then after she takes a really long bath you awake to find her curled up at your side

she'll ride with you into the sunset till the road ends and then hop the next plane

she re-creates her family in whatever circle she finds herself

she is her own time and space and a world your dreams can only wish they were set in

she's the cashews in your chex mix - edible without them, but what's the point?

she is distant all evening and then sings haunting, wordless medieval chants as you make love

she's a guilty pleasure in that you hopelessly adore her in spite of yourself

she is almost as good of a friend as she is inspiring, yet at times, even more so

she's the risk you can't afford not to take

she forms relationships from her own mold, which if you manage to break, she'll quietly, albeit somewhat reluctantly, savor it in hear heart forever

she's a figment of your imagination even as she stands right in front of you

she perpetually keeps you within inches of the most horrendous mess you could ever find yourself in

she is wonderfully, wonderfully imperfect and may just admit it if you stick around long enough

she's a girl on the inside, obviously, but one who's unabashed sweetness sneaks up on you, making you wonder why you ever doubted her

she is someone you experience

Damn the Torpedoes

Remind me for the zillionth time that her heart knows no bounds with him. Fight as she may, it's only a matter of time. She'll bend the rules. She'll surrender her will. She'll sacrifice goals and comfort to see things through, even enduring humiliation. She'll give till there's nothing left and follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond.

To call her a fool would prove me a hypocrite. God knows I've wagered hope and trust in even frivolous pursuits.

That gleam of approval in her eyes may as well be the headlights of an oncoming train. Their exchange of knowing smiles rings a death knell in his ears.

So are you, um, doing anything tomorrow night?

whacked

To countless Western adolescents, as Regan talked tough with those short-time Soviet premiers who have all but escaped our minds, the greatest looming deterrent of our time bore various monikers. The Board of Education, Mr. Bo Ard, The Physical Educator, or that of a similar vein could be read along the business end of some of them, at least at my middle school. The ones you never saw sported holes for aerodynamic efficiency or even had rusty construction nails sticking out.

Just one broadside strike of a desk never failed to save souls. What we associated with that particular word was, for some, way more horrifying than a grizzly mafia hit could ever be.

Mrs. G, next to our homeroom, had the shop instructor fashion hers in the shape of a human hand and painted with school colors, if memory serves. On its fateful inauguration day our own teacher, the dry WWII vet, would-be lovechild of John Wayne and Principal Skinner, ordered us seated and silent after he was discretely asked to witness, as if anyone wanted to miss overhearing the proceedings. Breathing minimally we strain, some grinning, others solemnly, to discern the mumblings from outside the open door. If the inquisition ever became intricate he might reappear, to quell us, unless the gunpowder crack of sovereignty meeting Jordache denim invoked saucer-eyed pause. This time the report is followed by a tink-tink-tink as if someone dropped an empty soda can. Later that day most of us saw her toting the faux paw, minus a thumb, evidently shearing along the join at impact.

In eighth grade one of the guys tells me that Bonnie Bowles was able to avoid corporal punishment by citing the way of women as a nod to Jacob's Rachel. Once, while passing the assistant principal's office I could almost feel the whiff, line drive to center field.

As we moved on to high school, the bigger building with fresh challenges, posturing amidst peers with increasingly adult features and improved personal hygiene, the threat and awe quietly gave way. Discipline was now a clerical matter. Usually it was demerits and/or partial isolation in what we termed the hole, a one-time bomb shelter. Actually, the reprimand code had been in force since fifth grade but at first we rarely knew of anyone actually going that far. After a while it sounded almost fun to spend a month in suspension making holiday crafts, to hear one fellow relate it on the bus every morning between bodily epithets.

The girl next door once tried to describe Mrs. Wreede dishing one out from her electric wheelchair. To this day I'm not sure how she got to see that happen.

It wasn't long before a new or refurbished hand-paddle was commissioned, except this time we all know what the tink-tink noise signifies. Same kid even.

Most of those who got it possessed a certain inner strength, not so much irreverence as, well, relentless individuality. The point was not to punish delinquent behavior among a few. Our elementary principal seemed to only wield the board playfully, maybe joking about it when someone has a birthday. It was a concerted effort to counter the threat of global puberty.